New Man Home
by protgforce141
Summary: The 141 have been lazing around for the past few months, and Ghost finally decides to add some life back into the unit with MacTavish's blessing, that being a new operator
1. No One Likes To Be Shot

"First things first, as of this morning, we still have no Intel on any new operations."

Groans of both disbelief and boredom echo throughout the briefing room, several of the Task Force 141 soldiers rolling their eyes or letting their heads hand. "And thus marks the fourth month of solid training," Toad huffs from his seat around the long table, a scowl etched into his features.

"Why don't we go up to Shepard and demand something so we aren't just sitting around forever?" Scarecrow calls out, gaining several murmurs of approval from his fellow soldiers.

"I've already asked, and the General said that he's got nothing." Captain John MacTavish shakes his head, keeping a neutral expression on his face, despite his annoyance at his CO. The world can't be in _that_ great of shape, seeing as the Ultranationalists led by Vladimir Makarov are still at large. Nodding to his XO, MacTavish signs for Ghost to continue on with the monthly briefing.

"In other news, we have a new man coming with us from here on out." Looking up warily at the expressions of the special units men, Ghost smirks underneath of his skull balaclava. That certainly peaked their interests, a score on the British soldiers behalf. He was the one who decided that a new face would add some life back on base, and to his hardly ever existing joy, the Captain agreed, although mainly to get the creepy smile off of Simons face. That guy can get the president to hand over nuke codes in a moment, just so he'd stop with the freaky face.

"Where's he from?"

"What's he good in?"

"Which team is he joining?"

"Can he cook?"

The last one earned a swat from Cherub, who more often than not took it upon himself to cook for his fellow soldiers when the actual Cook was busy preparing for the next meal. Meat just rubbed his arm with a smirk, proud that he got a jab at the Brit's cooking skills.

"Asshole," Cherub grumbled, crossing his arms angrily.

"SAS, Scotland more specifically, I believe infiltration and he has formal training in sniping, most likely Hotel, and how the bloody hell am I supposed to know?"

Seeming satisfied with the answers, the top tier soldiers murmured around themselves, some anxious, all excited. A new face would truly change the pace of everything around base.

Fidgeting slightly in his seat, Roach just prayed that the FNG wouldn't be corrupted by Meat, due to the recent series of pranks base-wide, dubbed the 'Great Prank War', where Meat "accidentally" let a skunk loose in Roach's room. To put it shortly, both man and animal were startled that day, and Roach just got the smell of skunk out of his room. He really did not need the GPW 2 breaking out so soon. Not until _he_ can corrupt the new guy.

"When's he coming over?" Chemo calls out, asking a question that you'd think someone would've already asked.

"Tomorrow morning, last I checked. He's running one last OP with his team and then coming when they get back." MacTavish answers, pleasing Chemo. The Canadian never was the patient one.

"If that's everything, then you're dismissed." Ghost nods to the Captain, flipping his little notebook closed. Taking it as a sign that they can go, the men stand quickly, and beeline to the Mess Hall, where Cook had been slaving over the stoves to provide food for the ever-hungry soldiers that he pledged to feed.

Every time that Meat entered the Mess, Cook always thought that he'd pass out, due to the soldiers abnormally large appetite that's earned some teasing from his fellow soldiers about his name.

Not to anyone's surprise, Meat was the first one in the Mess, and first to the counter. The hall filled with discussion on the same topic unanimously. What will the FNG be like?

He isn't a FNG in the standard of he just joined up, but he's going to be brand fucking new to the mess and brilliance that is the 141.

"The man better not try to take over my goddamn job, else I'll shoot his jewels." Archer grumbles, dropping his tray unceremoniously. The sniper was still reluctant to have Toad work with him at times, but everyday the man grew on him more and more.

"No one can take over your job, Arch, you can hit a Coyote from a mile off," Roach teases, jabbing fun at the Irishman. How, no one knew, but while providing over watch in a training exercise, the man thought that Ghost had put up some of the moving targets, and decided to take a shot at it. Needless to say, he hit the animal he thought to be a target, but the mile off was quite the exaggeration.

"Shut up. I wasn't the one who fell off the training tower last month," Archer shoots back with a hard glare. "I have grace and balance, two things you've never learned before."

"Oi!" Leaning forwards, the good-natured soldier meets Archers hard gaze with an equally terrifying one, at least to a civilian, eyebrows bunched together.

"Alright ladies, let's break it up." Chemo sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Archer, the FNG won't take you spot. You're invaluable to us, and your skills are top notch," turning to Roach, Chemo smirks. "And you can survive any fall, that's why we call you Roach."

"Hahaha, very funny," Roach snaps, digging his plastic spoon into his mashed potatoes. Quickly shoving the spoon heaping with spuddy goodness, Roach almost melts in his seat. The 141 really had the best cook around.

No one could beat Cook's cooking, nothing. The FNG is going to be a lucky S.O.B when he gets in.


	2. The Holy Mug

Roach was restless as he tried to get any sleep, the excitement of a new guy overwhelming his mind. After stepping out into the rec room the next morning, he could see that very few people actually got any sleep.

Trudging over to the local coffee machine, Roach twisted his face up in a scowl at the bright fluorescent lights lighting up the room, angry at them for being so…...bright.

"Didn't sleep well either?" Royce questioned the British soldier with some sort of smirk. The American was stuck with Meat when he first joined up, for the purposes of not enough room, and was in about just the worst mood from lack of sleep. The Canadian would snore like a bear, and thought he slept like an angel. Eventually, when the base had an extension that included new rooms, the pair just never separated, and like several other 'battle buddies' just shifted over to one of the larger rooms, that now has been rightfully dubbed 'the Meat cave' as noted by a sign on the door with a little '+Royce' underneath of it.

"I don't know how you do it," Roach huffs, pouring himself a cup into his favourite mug. He got it when he bribed MacTavish to take the 141 soldiers to Disneyland the last time they had a break this long. It was his trusty Goofy mug, that withstood every food fight since. No one speaks of the long lost Mickey mug that found its way off the Mess Hall table, thanks to a thrown baked potato.

It didn't end well for the thrower of said potato.

The sound of aircrafts landing almost always filled the air in the rec room, but had been quiet for a while asides from scheduled training for the few air men (and women) on base.

Taking a lucky chance out the window to find the source of the whining engines, Chemo spotted both MacTavish and Ghost standing outside by a different aircraft than the ones the 141 use. Well, different in the sense of the lack of the 141 emblem on the tail.

"Hey, I think the FNG's here," the Canadian calls back to the other two soldiers, his interest peaked.

Whipping his head to the side, Roach forgets all about his steaming Goofy mug, leaving it on the counter, taking long strides towards the window. Royce joining them, they watch carefully as the hatch opens, the ramp lowering to the ground, revealing...three soldiers in full combat? The middle one was limping, a scowl twisted on his face, and he seemed to be bickering with the man on his left about something.

"Which ones the FNG?" Royce asks aloud, frowning at the three SAS soldiers, well, 2 SAS and 1 Ex-SAS.

"Beats me."

{Specs P.O.V}

"It's just a flesh wound, I can walk myself," I scowl in the directions of both Wallace and Calgreen, whose shoulders I'd been forced to drape my arms over and lean on.

"You got shot in the leg, stop being so damn stubborn and let us help you one last time." Wallace grumbles as the ramp lowers, the hatch opening.

"C'mon!" I whine as my ex-teammates start moving down the ramp. "I _always_ get shot in the leg, and it doesn't even hurt! Seriously!"

"Yeah, cause you _always_ risk things that can get you injured."

"That would help the mission be successful." I throw back towards Wallace and his ever worrisome personality that mainly comes out when one of his team gets injured. I think he might stop greying with me gone, then he won't have to try and sneak hair dye on base.

"I don't think your new CO will be pleased that you're so stubborn," Calgreen points out, as quiet as ever. Damn, I'll miss him, and Wallace, I guess. I'll actually miss everyone from my former unit. They were my family. Who knows if I'll get the same thing from the new unit?

"You alright, Ry?" Snapping my gaze up to meet Wallace's icy blues. We'd stopped halfway down the ramp.

"Course. Just thinking."

Chuckling slightly, the tips of his lips perk up. "We thought we lost you for a second, you got all limp and dead to the world, but that's no different from early mornings." He teases, and in my defence, I stick out my tongue.

"Asshole," I mutter, receiving a nudge from Calgreen.

"Watch your mouth," He advises me for the last time probably ever.

"Yes mother," I coo in a child's voice, much to his disgust. He's always hated it, partially because I was imitating him after I went home with him on leave, and his mother decided to show me a bunch of videos.

Baby Calgreen was super cute, I have to admit.

"You've always been creepily good at that."

Shrugging, I shoot him a lazy grin. "Hidden talent."

Finally, we _finally_ step off of the damned ramp, standing in front of my new CO and most likely the XO as well. Are they always so long, or did we choose the extra-dramatic ramp? One of the two had a skull balaclava on with sunglasses covering his eyes, but his piercing stare still cut through the glass.

"I didn't think we'd be getting an injured man," the short haired man, who I'm _guessing_ is Captain MacTavish, frowns, looking down at my bandaged leg.

Before I can say 'It's nothing' Wallace cuts in. "We were returning to our transport when he got hit. Stray AK fire. I bandaged it up well after we got in the air. All I have to say about it is that this man is more stubborn than a mule. He'll reject most help, and want to get out in the field as soon as he can." He advises the man, a lighthearted tone to his tired voice. He had been up since early morning yesterday, but as have I, so he can bite me.

Chuckling, the Captain returned his gaze away from the wound. "Trust me, I have many men who are just like that." Nudging skully, he smirks. "This man, for example."

"I feel bad for you then, sir. Specs was our only stubborn one."

His pleasant gaze turning serious, his dark eyes meeting my own. "Are you able to walk?"

"As well as I can run."

His eyes study my face for but a moment before he nods curtly. "Ghost, mind helping the man to his new room." It wasn't so much a question as an order. Removing my arms from around my friends shoulders, I cross them stubbornly.

"If you mean helping me with moving, then I'll have to object."

"I'm not gonna carry you bridal style

anyways," Ghost huffs, receiving a short shove from the Captain. "Fine," he grumbles, turning towards the entrance of the large base. "Let's just move this along, alright? I haven't had my cup yet."

"Coffee or adult coffee?" I question, limping towards the man with a small smirk on my face and a twinkle in my eyes. I'd already said my goodbyes to my old unit the night before, and have never been one for second goodbyes. They always make me a sobbing son-of-a-bitch.

Sighing, he adjusts the mask that he's probably been named by. "Gonna need adult coffee after this."


	3. Run Bug, Run

"I'm fine," I insist, arms crossed and standing at the foot of a bed in the medbay. "This sort of thing happens all the time. I just need to stretch it out cause it's stiff."

"And I'm telling you no, you aren't fine, because you literally still have a bullet sitting in the wound, and I need to clean it." One of the bases doctors rolls up her sleeves, plastic gloves plastered onto her hands.

"You will let her fix you up, understood Sergeant?" Ghost sighs, head drooping. I guess one of his orders were to take me here, before my room where all my stuff is. Oh how I've missed it.

"Is that an order?"

"Are you always this annoying when it comes to injuries."

"Usually."

"Then yes, it is an order."

Even I know not to mess with this guy, he has this vibe to him like if you say the wrong thing, he'll break your back, or your ass. Whatever shows up first.

"Fine," I grumble, limping over to the bed, and shifting my leg upwards so the doctor can take a good look at it.

The gloves are cool against my skin, and it's actually quite pleasant. "The bullet isn't too deep, I can get it out right now without any tools, but that'll hurt like a bitch." She mumbles to herself, picking up a pair of extra large tweezers from the little cart beside her. "Although this won't be much better," the doctor advises, readying the tool.

"Just get the damn thing out," I grunt, holding on tight to the sheets beside me.

Curse you, Russians and your bloody AK'S with the stupid fire at the people who are running. Damn you also, momentum and gravity, cause the floors of a bird hurt like a boulders being thrown against your face.

"Done," Thank you, pain gods, for giving pity to me and letting it slide out easily!

"Thank god," I sigh, letting my head fall back in relief. I hate Russia. Beautiful place, but every time I go, someone tries to kill me for some unknown reason. I never know why.

Rewrapping my wound, the doctor pats my arm. "You're good to go. Just try to stay off of it for at least an hour when you get to your room, and do not touch that bandage," she warns, jabbing a finger in my direction.

"Alright, alright." I huff, swinging my legs down once she moves. "Thanks."

"Just doing my job," shooting me an ultra glare, she peels off her bloody gloves. "now do your own damn job and don't try to get yourself killed."

"I don't know if i-"

"dID I FUCKING STUTTER?" raising her voice, I cower down away from the noise.

"Yes, ma'am. I won't get myself killed without your permission."

She sounds almost exactly like ma, holy shit.

Seeming pleased, she smiles at me, like a kid who just shattered a window and now are trying to act all nicey-nice. "Good," Turning to Ghost, she jabs a finger in his direction. "And, Simon?"

almost hesitantly, He looks up at the doctor. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"None of this will leave this room, do you understand?"

"Course, Ma'am."

"Good," Turning back towards me, the doctor pats my shoulder. "Welcome to the 141, honey. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other quite frequently."

I certainly hope we don't.

Forcing a smile, I chuckle slightly. "I won't doubt it," Ghost places a hand on my shoulder, almost pulling me off of the bed and out into the hallway, giving a hasty 'goodbye' to the doctor.

"I'm not scared of many things in this world, but by god, she's one of the few." He mutters once we leave the medbay, still pulling me by the shoulder.

"She reminds me of my mother," I note, shuddering slightly, "It's freaky, actually."

Turning back to give me a look, the balaclava that Ghost wears lifts slightly. "Can your mum terrify the living lights out of soldiers?"

"I had a couple of mates from my old unit over one Christmas, and all of us were pretty beat up from an op that we had just been on. We didn't want to make her suspicious, so we all wore suits," I look down sheepishly. "She got suspicious, and make us all strip down. I got more than enough earful about how I needed to be more careful, and to make things worst, they had all of my extended family over too. Terrified more than half of them I'm sure, to see your family all beat up. Got a long scar up my side from that one, and she won't let me ever forget it."

Snorting, Ghost removes his hand from my shoulder. "That sounds like something Dorlie would do."

"Is Dorlie the doctor that yelled at me?"

"There's no other doctor quite like her." He states, "In personality, or skill."

Stretching out my leg with a relieved sigh, I look down at the blinding white bandage. "Well, whatever she did, it worked _wonders._ I can hardly feel it."

I'm certain that underneath of that mask, he's rolling his eyes. Seems like something he'd do. "Good." Gesturing to my new room, Ghost swings open the door, revealing all my beautiful gear. "You have quite a few crates," he notes, allowing me to swing my arm off of his shoulders and hobble to my stuff.

"Ah, how I missed you," I joke, throwing myself onto the crates. "Life was so bland without this."

"What the hell do you have in there anyways?"

"Just some gear,"I state, defensive of my stuff. "I have a bit of a sentimental value with most of it."

Shaking his head, I can imagine Ghost scowling at me. "You'll fit right in, more so for a F.N.G than anyone I've known."

Oh.

Right.

I'm the new guy.

The _fucking_ new guy.

"Good to hear."

Crossing his arms, his mask lifts up slightly along his eyebrow line, 'It's tradition for the

F.N.G to spend the day in his room before he goes out to meet the rest of the unit. MacTavish will probably come in later today to converse with you about something important." Eyeing the crates, Ghost turns to leave almost as quickly as he can. "I advise that you get all of that put away ASAP. Captain's a picky one."

"Course."

Nodding almost hesitantly, Ghost closes the door behind him, the noise of his heavy boots echoing down the hallway until they've disappeared.

(Roach's POV)

Peering out behind the corner, I gesture with my hand for Toad and Archer to move up to the clear area.

"I feel like a numpty," Archer mutters as he crouch-runs down the hallway, while Toad rolls into the open, before rolling into a hidden corner.

"You do because you aren't invested in the mission," Toad offers from his corner, whispering very loudly, and snapping his wrist up to tell us 'hurry the fuck up'.

I crouch-sprint forwards until I'm beside the two battle buddies, and peering out from behind the corner once again. Ghost seems to be helping the guy along, with the ex-SAS arm slinged over Ghost's shoulders.

"They left the medbay," Toad notes, staring at the soldiers. "MacTavish did say that he was running one last op."

"The guy probably got hit at some point," I add in, still staring at the two. Ghost was extremely tense, obviously not used to having a man he doesn't know so close to him. I admit, he'd be fine with it if it were a battle situation, but this is moving to a room. Completely different.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Archer just pulls the two of us back so he can get a good look at the F.N.G. "He most likely got hit near the end of the mission, his limps not as bad as what it would be near the beginning," Scowling, Archer tries to squint at the injury. "Probably stray AK fire, although I can't say from this distance."

My mouth hangs open in surprise as I stare at the sniper. "How'd you know all that?"

Shrugging, Archer turns back towards the two of us. "Most of it I learned from providing overwatch. When you get hit, I always notice how much you move depending on the time you get hit. Other parts just an educated guess. Most obvious places he could have gone, the enemy uses AK's."

Toad gives a proud look at his quiet battle buddy, and frankly, there's times where I wonder how they work together so well. Archer is the reserved, serious, but can take a joke and throw one back out type of guy, and Toad is a carefree motherfucker, but you put them on a battlefield, and you'd think that they've been together for all their lives, or they can read each other's minds.

Peeking out from the corner once again, Ghost is now standing in front of an open door without anyone beside him, but he still is talking. Finally, he shuts the door, and sets off with his heavy boots down the hallway back in our direction.

Pulling myself back, I hiss to the two, "Big Bird is heading right for us."

"So that's what you're calling me now?" Ghost questions from behind me, and Archer's face visibly pales. "Are you three done sneaking around now?"

"Course, Ghost. We're just interested in meeting our new guy." Toad chuckles nervously, not meeting our XO in the eyes.

"Well, you can meet him after training," Crossing his arms, I turn just in time to see his trademark balaclava lift slightly at the eyebrow.

"Yes, sir." Archer mutters, standing to his full height of 6'1. "I told you that this was stupid," he grumbles to Toad, who follows his lead.

"C'mon, you weren't the least bit curious about the F.N.G?" Toad presses as they leave to return to their rooms, likely enough to retrieve their gear for training.

"I have to admit, bug," a grin reaches Ghosts eyes, betraying his emotions. "you are getting better at moving around quietly down this noisy hallway. Thing that betrayed all of you was all the talking."

"Figures," I sigh. "And we could've gotten away with it, if the two old men over there would've just done hand signals, like I said."

As quick as a whip, his gaze turns from cheeky, to serious. "I want you out for training in 10. Any later and you'll be running laps."

"Shit," I huff, before sprinting down the noisy hallway once again. I can get ready in 2 minutes at the most, 45 seconds at the least, but my room where all my gear is stashed, is in the north wing, and this is the east.

Not a big deal on paper, but hell of a big deal when you take into account how large each wing is.

I've got 9 minutes and 26 seconds.

I better fucking make it.


End file.
